Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Something’s wrong.

Something has been wrong for the past five minutes but Daniel hasn’t been able to understand why.

This was supposed to be fun. It was fun! Fucking a stranger in front of your scary ancient vampire (boyfriend? sugar daddy? fuck, even Daniel doesn’t know) is super hot. 

He had a really lovely time getting on his knees as per Armand’s order. He unbuckled the belt, got that handsome stranger’s dick in his mouth, and sucked and licked and bobbed his head like he’d been deprived of cock for fucking years. Till spit and precum ran down his chin, nasty, messy , as if Daniel was the star of some freaky gay porno. He loved sitting on the guy’s face (what was his name again? john? jason? uh, something with a j, probably) and gazing at Armand—his perfectly still, elegantly stoic, killing machine. It felt like he was on fire, having those sharp amber eyes staring right through him like a knife.

(He believes he's had a couple of dry orgasms from that look alone.)

Daniel loved having those stranger’s fingers inside him, with Armand instructing, in that perfect neutral voice, “Yes, boy. Spread your legs wider, that’s it. Let this lovely man open you up for his cock. Hmm, very good. What a sweet boy you are, offering your hole to be stretched. Isn’t he lovely? Yes, of course he is. What a beautiful boy to grace us with his awful eagerness. Ah, yes. Good boy. Take that cock nice and slow, yes, very good, Daniel. Take deep breaths. Your hole will need to swallow the whole thing whole— Oh, good. My good boy. So good is my Daniel’s warm cunt, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Daniel loved being fucked. He loved it so much, honest to God, it could be his second drug of choice. He loved being fucked by Armand; brutal, merciless, overwhelming, made him fucking cry big fat tears as he kept begging for more and more. And he loved being fucked by strangers while Armand watched; his shadow, his monster, looking down in contempt as Daniel made a mess of the pure cotton sheets the vampire had bought him. 

He loved it. He fucking loved it. Daniel even said it, over and over, “I love this, I love this, I love this, please, please, please—” Till the stranger made him come just from fucking his ass. A second time, when he touched Daniel’s cock as he pushed back in. And a final time, when he didn’t think he could come anymore, but he only had to glance once at Armand, catch that heavy amber gaze, and hear him whispering in his mind, Be a good boy and come on that man’s cock, sweet thing.

He loved it.

Daniel loved it.

He did, he did, he did.

Then why did the numbness resurface when the stranger spilled out of him? Why did his body freeze as he heard both the man and Armand leave the room?

Daniel has stayed here, over this dirty bed, soaking in his own sticky fluids for the past five minutes.

Which is fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

It’s normal. This happens, sometimes, when they’re done fucking. (Or, in this case, Armand is done watching.) Sometimes he just leaves. Which is normal. Which is fine! Armand has Louis. Armand has to go back to Louis. Armand can’t stay. Daniel’s lucky if the vampire decides to spend the weekend, really.

He’s a very important man, his little apex predator of the night, he has very important dealings, a very important life, a very important husband to go home to.

Daniel knew this shit before he kissed Armand back in Paris. In his hotel room, tired and exhausted of this monster always following him around, always watching but never doing a damn thing about it. Daniel wanted Armand to stop hiding. He didn’t just want to talk on the phone or have small conversations at the bar or watch this beautiful creature from afar.

He wanted the vampire all to himself.

Daniel laughs at that.

What a stupid notion.

What a stupid, stupid, boy he truly is.

The numbness isn’t helping either. It’s turned sour, twisting his stomach into knots, making his legs shiver for all the wrong reasons.

It takes him a while to understand he’s going to vomit.

He jumps out of bed and sprints to the bathroom, having half a mind to lock the door before puking all over the sink. Daniel gags as he spills out the contents of today’s dinner, which isn’t much, chunks of day-old Chinese takeout, mixed with a dark liquid, which he believes is probably coffee or the liquor he drank at the bar. He spits on the clogged sink, feeling only a slight relief from the nausea. And when he glances at the mirror, he flinches. His mouth is dirty with vomit and saliva, while his skin has turned a sickly pale, eyes bloodshot.

Has he been crying? There are tear streaks down his cheeks. Since when did he start crying? When he vomited, or did it start sooner? He doesn’t remember. Daniel doesn’t fucking remember and it’s fucking with his head.

His thighs tremble, from the exhaustion, the sickness. Then they begin to shiver like a dying fish as he feels something leak from his ass.

Daniel glances downwards, and almost vomits again when he spots the clear cum running down his leg.

Did the condom break? He thinks, inhaling sharply. Did the guy even put on a condom?

No. No , he did. Daniel watched him put it on before he slid inside. He did. He did watch him. It must’ve broke. Yes, it must’ve… Armand missed it, probably. He must’ve missed it. He would’ve told Daniel if he saw the condom break. Wouldn’t he? Of course he would. He promised. He promised him that he—

Daniel is shoved face down on the dirty couch as a stranger spreads his legs from behind. There was barely any prep—and even that was at Daniel’s insistence—but he’ll take it. He can take it. This isn’t the first time and sure as hell won’t be the last. Daniel is good at this, after all.

“I don’t wanna use a condom,” the stranger says. “That alright with you?”

“Sure,” someone, not Daniel, answers. “My Danny can handle it, can’t you, honey?”

He glances at the man watching over. This tall handsome man. With dirty blonde hair and mesmerizing green eyes, a mouth so enticing Daniel has crawled on his knees for—just to have them press against his hair. His Michael. He would do anything for him (and Michael knows this), so Daniel simply nods.

He takes the stranger’s cock even though it hurts, he grunts into the couch cushion as the thrusts speed up—as the pain grows—and he takes the awful mean words from Michael’s lips (isn’t he an eager little slut? god, he’d probably fuck the whole neighborhood if he could, wouldn’t you, danny? yeah, fuck him hard! he likes that. isn’t he loose like a woman? love that about him. my own little whore).

And he’s good. He’s good. 

Daniel stays impossibly still as he feels the man come inside him. He stays there, biting down a painful hiss, as the stranger carelessly takes out his cock. He ignores the lewd comments about his body. How he looks like a corpse. That they could fuck him twice as hard and he wouldn’t move a muscle. Daniel stays. Even after Michael leaves with the drug dealer to the next room so they can snort cocaine in peace. Because Michael will leave some for Daniel. He always does. That’s the deal they made for each other—Michael gets the drugs and Daniel fucks for them.

Why else would he be here? Why else would Michael love him?

Daniel gags into the sink but nothing comes out. Just spit. Just his own filth staring back at him.

He didn’t care then. He didn’t feel anything then. So why? Why the fuck is his brain dragging those memories back to the surface? Why the fuck is he like this? Why does he feel like his entire skin has been peeled back and salt was rubbed into the exposed flesh?

Daniel loved it. He loved it, goddamn it! He loved the guy Armand picked out for him and he loved the way the guy fucked him. His ass was properly stretched. His prostate was well and thoroughly stimulated. The guy was nice. The guy was thoughtful. It was filthy but it was sweet. He kissed Daniel after like the boy was something precious; and not some disposable whore. There was no pain. It was good. It felt so so good. 

So. Why? Why is his body betraying him like this?

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Daniel,” a voice calls from the other side. “Daniel, open the door.”

God, he wants to laugh. He’s shaking like a leaf, with vomit still around his lips, and his little devil is right outside the door. Daniel’s life is a fucking comedy.

“Daniel, please,” Armand begs, and Daniel's hand twitches; when has the devil ever begged for his minion? “Daniel, please, open the door so I can see you.”

He tries to puke again but his throat is dry, his stomach is empty. Fresh tears spill down his blotchy cheeks. Daniel sobs over the filthy sink and wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

I'm so pathetic, he thinks, over and over. I'm so weak. Nothing. I'm nothing. Fuck. You stupid, stupid, fucking idiot!

It makes sense, in the great scheme of things. If Daniel was to get all philosophical about it. 

It makes sense that his mom didn't want him, that he stumbled his way into addiction like his dad, fell in love with someone who just saw him as a tool, and was so afraid of himself that after he only fucked guys when there were drugs involved, how he meticulously lied to his own mind, again and again. 

It makes sense that when he saw the devil in the flesh, Daniel wept over his terrifying beauty. It makes sense—how he willingly fell into the beast's arms. Because he was tired of running from himself, of fleeing the reaper knocking on his door. He was tired, and still yearned for more. 

God, he’s so fucking hungry, sometimes he thinks he could eat the whole world. 

It makes sense. 

Because Daniel is a leech. Daniel is no good. Daniel… Daniel is going to drive straight into traffic and die in a pathetic display of alcoholism if the other nasty drugs don't get to him first.

“Daniel!” Armand screams, voice scratchy, screeching. “Open the door so I can see you, beloved! Please!”

He chuckles under his breath.

Can't you just break down the door? He sends the thought his way. Why the hell are you asking me for?

“Because I want you to want to open the door,” Armand says, voice a tiny whisper; he sounds like a frightened child. “Please, beloved. Please let me in.”

Daniel is also a needy little fuck.

He doesn't even wipe the vomit off his mouth when he unlocks it. Just a click on the door handle and the distance between the two is breached.

He must be quite the sight. For this devil in front of him—dressed in a stylish open white shirt, gorgeous curls set back, the perfect specimen of an alluring predator—stares back in distress. 

This monster, who has seen Daniel at his worst. In the nastiest of hangovers, the crash down from the heavy drugs, the days he couldn't get out of bed, not even shower. Armand has seen it all, and every time he’d been undeterred by Daniel's messiness. This time, however, his eyes twist at his miserable display.

Of course.

Everyone has a limit.

“Seen everything?” Daniel rasps, feeling the nausea climb back up. “Okay, you can go now.”

Armand reaches for his arm and Daniel's body goes tight at the touch. It freezes. Makes him pliant; like a doll, like a fucking corpse. His own mind goes fuzzy. Which is somewhat pleasant, because the numbness sets it. The nothingness takes over. It's good. It's good that he puts distance between himself and this body. He's good, like this, far away from now. He's good; when he can't feel anything.

“Beloved,” the voice whispers from above, it's nice, it's soft, like a warm bath. “My darling, come back to me.”

Daniel doesn't speak. The voice feels good but it feels better where he is currently, swimming in deep darkness. Here he is alone. The quiet is comforting. Like a hug. Like a kind embrace. At least, it feels like it. 

And he'll take it. The hungry boy will take anything that feels like love, even if it is anything but.

Daniel , the voice calls for him again. 

It touches at the tips of his mind. They feel colder now; like the icy riverbanks he used to hunt for crawfish as a little boy, when his dad still put effort in their small family vacations and his mom still pretended to care if he scratched his knees across the rocks. They feel like home.

Follow me, Daniel, it commands, flying above him like tiny fireflies, paving a path through the nothingness. Focus. My sweet boy, center yourself. Come back to me.

The darkness seems to dissipate at those words. It forces Daniel to concentrate, adjust his eyes, till he can spot a shining amber light down the tunnel.

Please, my beautiful boy, the voice pleads and it's the gentlest thing he’s ever heard. Just follow my voice. That's it. Slowly. One step at a time, Daniel. Come back to me. Please, beloved. Return to the world of the living. I beg of you.

It takes a while for Daniel to float back into his body. To feel the tips of his fingers, the sour dryness around his mouth, drops of sweat running down his neck—to see the pair of amber eyes staring back at him.

They're soft. As soft as he's ever seen them.

“B-Beloved,” his devil stutters, and it breaks something inside Daniel. “Please, talk to me. What happened?”

Armand cares. That's the worst of it. This demon actually gives a shit about pathetic worthless Daniel.

Why? He thinks, desperate himself. Why does he care so goddamn much? 

Where’s the monster who tortured him for days back in Louis’ shitty apartment? Where is death incarnate, lulling him to the blissful end? 

What has Daniel done to Armand?

“My darling boy,” the vampire shudders, almost touching his cheeks, before twisting his hands into tight fists and pulling them back to his side. “Why do you think this way? What has transpired? W-What… Am I the cause of your distress? What have I done, beloved? Tell me, please, so I can fix it! Please , Daniel, answer me!”

That striking amber gaze turns bloody, red tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Oh, it's beautiful. His devil is mesmerizing. And it hurts Daniel. It stabs at his chest, choking him from the inside out. Soon enough, Daniel's own tears return. He can’t stop them. They flow down, one by one, betraying him, causing the pain to ricochet all throughout his body.

“I don’t know,” he sobs, his own hands trembling. “I don’t know, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

A thin river of blood flows down the devil's cheeks. He chews on his bottom lip, looking just as lost as his minion. But he does open his arms in response, and the boy falls into his embrace. Daniel clings to Armand, crying like he used to at seven years old—before his mom had instilled in him enough shame to stop those nasty tears right in their tracks—he leans into his cold touch, feeling his monster cradling his head, stroking his hair. He hears Armand make a painful little sound as Daniel pulls him closer. The boy grips him like a vice and doesn’t let go.

He can’t let go. He can’t, can’t, can’t—

“You don’t have to,” his demon whispers. “You don’t have to let go. Shh , beloved. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m here and you don’t have to let go.”

“Armand,” Daniel whimpers, lips across his lovely icy neck; uncaring, greedy, needy . “Armand, please. I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry . I’m so fucking sorry—”

“You don’t need to know,” he responds, voice tight, final. “You don’t have to be sorry.” Armand caresses his curls, whispering soothing sounds into his skin. He feels his cold lips touch his cheek and they linger. “Just let me take care of you. Please.”

Daniel sighs in relief. His body goes lax under his devil’s touch.

I want this, he realizes, with great embarrassment. I want this so much it might consume me from the inside out.

The hungry boy wants to be taken care of. He wants… He wants Armand to give him this kind of treatment. This gentle care; for him, for mere ordinary Daniel.

“Okay,” the boy answers, softly.

Armand kisses his cheek once more, before squeezing his middle. The devil guides his minion to the bath, always a hand on his shivering body, lets the warm water run and uses a nearby towel to clean the dried vomit from Daniel's lips.

When the tub is full, Armand asks, “Would you like to get in the water, beloved?”

The boy nods, a hand grasping the devil's wrist. “Yes.”

“Let's take it slow, I don't want you to slip.”

Which is amusing, because Daniel feels he's been slipping since this night started.

Armand guides him into the warm clear water, shushing his whimpers with small pecks across his sweaty dirty face, while softly cradling the back of his head. 

Daniel loves his lover’s hands. Those long slender fingers that could rip him in half if Armand so wished. He also loves his scent. Armand likes expensive colognes, the ones that give off a sweet woody aroma with peppery undertones. Something inviting, seductive even, that makes it easier for his prey to succumb to his siren call. Finally, he loves the coldness of Armand’s body. How at first touch it can be perceived as something entirely human, but it’s only after lingering in his embrace that one realizes his coldness is icy, sharp, cruel . Daniel loves it; he loves it more than the warm bath.

“Will you let me wash your body, Daniel?” Armand asks once more.

The boy nods. “Sure, baby.”

Armand loves that little pet name. The first time he used it, his stoic apex predator couldn't help but blink many a time, before giving him the cutest confusing smile he's ever seen. He'd already fallen head over heels for his devil, but that moment cemented how fucked Daniel truly was with Armand.

His baby washes his body with the soft loofah he bought him a month prior, the fancy kind, actual sea foam or something. It feels good, feeling it slide across his overheated tired body. Armand even asks if it’s alright to wash down there.

Daniel responds by pressing his lips over his long lovely neck. He nods into that cold space he’s snuggled himself into.

And his devil is so gentle there, too.

“Tell me if something bothers you, please,” his baby whispers into the quiet, as he begins to wash his dried fluids, the sweat, the stubborn leftover cum.

Surprisingly gentle.

Oh, so very careful, his little demon.

Lest the minion cracks further than he’s supposed to.

“You weren’t supposed to break,” Armand says, voice small. “You were supposed to enjoy yourself tonight. You… You enjoyed him, didn’t you? I made sure he was right. Half-enamored by the sight of you alone, practically begging to please you. The man wished to give you only pleasure. He did, didn’t he? I felt your mind, I thought… Didn’t you enjoy him, beloved?”

Daniel nods, if briefly. “Yes, I did enjoy him.”

“Then what—“

“But then you left,” his voice cracks, and he clings to the cold dead thing treating him so gently. “You both left. I… I don’t know why this time it bothered me, but it did. I can handle it. I know I can, I just—… It was too much. I don’t know. Baby, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I'm sorry .”

“Beloved,” Armand shushes, pressing his lips to his temple; Daniel melts at the touch. “I believe I’m the one who’s mishandled the situation. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Okay,” Daniel sobs. “Okay, I'll stop. I'll… But don't leave me. Not now. You can't. Baby, not today.”

“I won't,” Armand vows, holding him tighter. “Believe me in this, please. I swear I won't. Let me take care of you. Let me fix this.”

How can you fix something that comes from me? He wishes to ask. How can you put me back together when I've always been a huge fucking mess? When I’ve always been a little bit broken?

Daniel says nothing, though. He merely lets Armand wash the rest of his body. While the boy clings to him as if he might disappear if he’s not looking. In return, the devil allows his minion to wet his clothes, stain his silk blouse with snot, again and again, as he washes the boy's hair and brushes the boy's teeth.

Daniel lets himself be taken care of.

Armand grants his beloved comfort without penance.

* * *

When they return to the bedroom, Armand lays Daniel on the armchair he sat on not long ago. The boy likes it, enjoying the faint traces of his remaining scent.

He watches as the vampire meticulously picks up Daniel's discarded clothing, changes the dirty sheets, and tosses everything into a basket. A perfect picture of domesticity. Their kind of domesticity, anyway. It consoles a small part of him.

As Armand nears the bedroom’s entryway, however, Daniel is hit with a sudden wave of fear. He grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

The devil glances down, and with a soothing voice he says, “I'm just putting everything in the washer, beloved.”

“Oh, right,” Daniel mumbles, embarrassed, and lets go. “You… Yes, you'll be back.”

“Yes, I will,” Armand says, before pressing his cold lips to his temple.

The kind touch eases a bit of his apprehension, he'll admit. Then his devil leaves. And as the seconds tick by, Daniel's mind starts playing tricks on him.

Maybe Armand lied, he thinks. (He's always been good at that, hasn't he?) Maybe he's grown tired of taking care of Daniel. That he's finally discovered what took others surprisingly less time to find out—that he's just too much work. It's not worth it. Daniel has never been worth it.

Armand is lucky to have Louis. Someone to go home to. That isn't some stupid pathetic worth—

“Beloved, enough,” the voice orders from above, and Daniel's mind obeys. Those nasty thoughts stop. The boy exhales as he feels an icy hand around his neck. “I'm here because I wish to be here. I'm aware of who you are, Daniel. I know all your faults. All your qualities. I'm here because I still desire you, boy.”

Daniel's breath hitches as he watches Armand kneel in front of him. His hand sliding down with him. When his knee hits the ground, his cold hand rests on the boy's bare chest, right above his beating heart.

The vampire’s sharp eyes shine with a gentleness that makes Daniel weep.

“I take care of you because I want to comfort you,” Armand confesses, as if that had been a long held secret. “You are… You frighten me, did you know? Every day my mind is plagued with the thought of you. Where you are, what are you doing, how are you feeling. Every single day, Daniel. Do you realize how rare that is? To have a human become my obsession of all things?”

“Well,” he clips. “I am fascinating.”

Armand's eyes widen, and a hard laugh bursts out of him. Legitimate laughter. Not the polite chuckle someone would hear at dinner parties, but a genuine loud cackle. It makes the devil's eyes crinkle. It turns his smile wide and open. Daniel has never seen anything more beautiful.

“You… You are…” Armand mumbles, rambles. He bows his head to press his lips on Daniel’s left knee, to which the boy gasps quietly. “You terrified me tonight. I was just outside your building, and I wished to listen to you sleep before I took my leave. But I heard nothing. I heard nothing , Daniel. You were out of my reach. You are never out of my reach. Even in your darkest moments, I could hear you. I could… This time, I heard nothing. And it scared me, beloved. I thought… Fuck , Daniel, I thought—”

The boy pulls him up by the back of his head and silences the grief with a searing hard kiss. Armand whimpers, clutching Daniel's chest. His claws pierce the surface of the skin, ever so slightly, as if he was teasing him. In the past, this would’ve been a taunting act on the vampire's part, but now the boy believes it's desperation. A sudden loss of control. Daniel likes it. Daniel wishes they went deeper, actually.

He wants those long claws to ruin him.

For if he is to end, then let it be by his lover's hands. Armand’s fangs—his devil's hunger.

“Beloved,” his baby gasps, breaking the kiss. He cries freely now, messy red tears running down both his cheeks. Daniel caresses them, smearing the blood with his thumbs. “No, I wouldn't. I would never .”

The boy's lips curl to the side. “My head is messy, baby. Just ignore it.”

But he doesn't. (Why would the devil ever ignore what's going inside his minion’s head?) 

Instead, Armand continues to weep. He keeps sobbing as he declares, “My beautiful boy, I'd rather die than see you die.”

Daniel tilts his head, confused. Before the heaviness of his confession hits him.

“Oh,” the boy sighs, gripping his cheeks harder. “Oh, you… Really?”

Armand throws him quite the exasperated look. “Have you not been listening to a word I've said, you fool!?”

“Okay , new pet name. Not sure about this one, though.”

“Beloved,” he rasps.

“Baby,” he soothes, pecking him on his lips.

His demon is undeterred, though. He continues to stare the boy down, unblinking.

“Will you tell me about Michael?”

Daniel believes if he were any less exhausted, he would’ve jumped at that name , from the way Armand made it sound vile, horrid, some disgusting vermin his polished shoe stepped on by accident. But the boy is tired. His limbs are too heavy to give a proper reaction. So, Daniel simply tucks a loose curl behind his baby’s ear, humming to himself.

“Daniel,” Armand says, still unblinking.

Well, he tried. His devil was always the better one at deflecting, anyway.

“You can read my mind, can't you?” Daniel murmurs, eyes searching for every tiny wrinkle on his lover's face, every pore, every little hair he missed shaving; everything that makes his vampire so human-like. “Look inside, you'll find what you're looking for.”

“I want you to tell me about him,” Armand insists, though not unkindly. “I want you to want , Daniel. That name… It’s popped in your mind from time to time, and I’ve looked briefly to know you wished not to speak of it. Thus, each time I ignored it. But I can’t do so any longer. Not when the memories attached to him have made you—… I have to ask, beloved. I need to know.”

Daniel stares long and hard before uttering, “Will you tell me about Marius?”

The first time Armand let Daniel fuck him, it was obvious his little devil would’ve been more than willing to do anything for his minion’s pleasure, even at the cost of his own.

Daniel understood right away he had to take it slow. He had to ask, again and again, “Is this okay, baby? Do you like it? Tell me if you like it, please.” Because, above all else, he wanted Armand to enjoy himself. For his legs to shiver in pleasure. For him to moan without shame. He wanted Armand to ride his cock at his own pace, his own leisure. Take his fill. For the devil to use him fully. All of it, his mouth and his ass and his cock, they all belonged to his baby.

Marius came up when Daniel dared to ask about the scars behind his back. It did not go well.

“How can you defend that fucker? Have you looked in a fucking mirror!?”

“They’re barely visible, Daniel. He took care of the wounds right after so there’s no need for you to be so sensitive about the subject. My maker took great care of me, in fact. He cared for me. He protected me—”

“That motherfucker did not protect you!”

“Lower your voice, boy.”

“Or what? You’ll get a whip and make my back bleed, too?”

“You’d certainly enjoy it.”

“Yeah, well, at least I didn’t own people as fucking furniture!”

“Do you mean slaves, Daniel? You can say the world slave. I was one.”

“And you’re still defending that sick fuck?”

“At least he loved me. Can you say that about your own father?”

“Fuck you.”

“I believe you already did.”

“Oh, so then you got what you came here for!”

“Yes, even if it was a mediocre performance—”

“The door is right there, man! Fucking leave if you don’t like what I have to say.”

“Gladly.”

They didn’t see each other for almost a month after that heated discussion. And when Armand came back, Daniel had learned his lesson. Never, ever, mention Marius, otherwise the love of Daniel’s life might run away for good.

He wonders if he’ll do the same now. If he’ll flee at Daniel’s question. 

They stare each other down, waiting for the other to act. The boy goes first.

“Well, there we go then,” Daniel sighs. “Let’s just—”

“He rescued me from the brothel when I was fifteen,” his baby hushes out, in one quick breath. “I served him with all my heart. I worshiped him. He was my rescuer, my god. And he was so reluctant to share the dark gift with me, because he loved me, he loved his beloved Amadeo, and it wasn’t until I was stricken with illness that he—”

“Hey, hey , okay,” Daniel whispers, cradling his head closer to his chest. “Okay. It's okay, baby. You don't have to tell me everything. I'm sorry I was pushy.”

He feels Armand's cold ragged breath on his skin, the way his hand curls around Daniel’s left breast. Another possessive but desperate kind of touch. It makes the boy feel safe, despite everything.

“Who was Michael?” The devil asks again, his own voice cracking at the end.

Daniel plays with his gorgeous curls to distract himself from the question. Although he knows he can't get away with it for too long. His baby is already on edge. He can see it by the way Armand remains perfectly still as Daniel keeps caressing the back of his head. Usually, he'd lean in. He'd start humming, almost purring; like a goddamn kitten. Alas, he lays still.

Well, fair is fair.

“There's not much to tell,” he murmurs back. “We met when I was new to San Fran. I didn't know anyone, and he gave me his couch to sleep that first night. We… also fucked. He let me live with him. He bought me food, beer. He didn't treat me like I was some dumb kid. I liked that about him. We were together for a year.”

The vampire continues to lay still, like a statue. So, Daniel takes a deep breath and says, “I used to fuck guys for drugs in front of him.”

Armand lifts his head and this time he does blink, he blinks a lot, almost like this is too much information to process. The boy tries to caress his cheek, but Armand snatches his wrist and slowly puts it back on his lap. His whole body is stiff; yet his eyes keep fucking blinking.

“Hey,” Daniel murmurs. “Listen to me, our fun has nothing to do with him.”

“Yet it was our fun that sent you into a spiral,” Armand says, voice devoid of everything. “I was right, I did this.”

Daniel frowns. “No, you fucking didn't.”

“Yes, I very much did.”

“I fucking liked it,” he snaps, gripping his shoulders. “I loved it, actually! I wanted it, Armand. With him, I— I did those things to please him. I tolerated it. It's different between you and me.”

And doesn't his baby look like the perfect martyr: wearing a still perfect face, smeared with blood, and donning a pair of amber eyes that could kill.

“My beautiful boy,” he hisses. “Daniel, I hurt you.”

He shakes his head. “It wouldn't be the first time.”

“This time is different,” he states, grasping his wrists and pulling them back. “This time… It wasn't supposed to hurt, sweet thing. Can you not see that?”

No, he can't. He can't see fucking anything. Daniel has been trying to see, to actually have something intelligent to say, but all he's come up with is, “I told you, you left.”

Armand’s eyes finally twist—they show despair, misery, remorse.

“You left me alone ,” the boy's voice wobbles, and he sounds so fucking pathetic. It's disgusting.

“You do not repulse me,” his devil insists. “You are beautiful, my sweet boy.”

Daniel laughs; a sad, petty thing. “Then why did you leave me?”

Armand leans forward, biting down on his bottom lip. “I'm sorry,” he proclaims. “I… It's what we've always done. I didn't think… I'm sorry.”

Meaningless word, wasn't it? What good are apologies if people are just repeating their shitty actions over and over and over and over—

“Don't do it again,” Daniel orders, voice surprisingly steady.

Armand nods. “I'm sorry—”

“Say you won't do it again.”

His devil gasps, yet he does as commanded.

“I won't leave,” he says, like it's that easy. “I won't leave you alone again.”

Daniel is struck by the heavy promise, how Armand proclaims it without so much as a stutter. How painful it still feels.

“D-Do you mean it?” The boy asks in return, unsure, scared.

Armand doesn't move. His body becomes a statue again. And for a moment, the fear takes over, Daniel believes he'll say no, that he was just messing with him, he didn't mean any of it, he doesn't actually give a shit. Then his devil bows his head—and cold lips linger over his rabbit beating heart.

“Yes, beloved,” he states, with a deep ache. “I do.”

“Oh,” Daniel murmurs, astounded by the emotion in his voice. “Oh, baby .”

He begins to caress his curls again, gently moving his fingers across his skull, enjoying the way his little apex predator starts humming from the comfort. He loves him. God, he loves him so much it pains him.

Then Armand asks, “Did you love Michael?”

Daniel's fingers freeze mid-stroke, his mind jumbling many responses he'd like to say, most of them angry, mean, an instinct to shout, “You goddamn hypocrite!” But the boy keeps his cool. He gathers the few strings of his self-control to say back, “Did you love Marius?”

Armand says nothing in response, like he thought he would. Daniel resumes his caresses.

“Let's stop talking about them,” the boy mutters. “There's no point to it, is there? It's in the past. Where it should stay buried.”

“Beloved,” his devil murmurs, lifting his gaze. He stares at him with that peculiar look of his, the one that shows he knows more than he should. “Would you like to see it?”

Daniel narrows his eyes. “See what, baby?”

He rises from the floor and walks a few steps to Daniel’s right, his devil reaches the nightstand and picks something from the floor. The trash can. When he shows it to Daniel, the boy spots the rolled up used condom atop some tissues he used earlier that day.

“That’s…” Daniel licks his lips, finding enough saliva to swallow the lump in his throat. “It's his, isn't it?”

“Yes, beloved,” Armand says, before adding, with that ache in his voice again, “If I had noticed it broke, I would've—”

“I know baby,” he interrupts, becoming too overwhelmed himself. “I know, okay? I know.”

Armand lays the trash can on the floor and places a cold hand back on his neck. The devil holds his minion like he's something precious.

“I would like you to eat something before you go to bed,” he says, matter of fact.

“I'm not hungry,” Daniel mumbles.

Armand's brows furrow. “You just threw up, Daniel.”

“Yes, I'm aware,” he huffs, although he still leans into the cold touch. “Still not hungry.”

“At least a pack of saltines with a glass of water,” his devil insists, softly. “ Please, beloved.”

The boy sighs before submitting to his whims. “Fine. I’ll eat some saltines.”

“May I…” And Armand looks lost again, as if he’s not sure what words he should pick. And the Ancient Vampire Armand always knows what to say, doesn’t he? “May I take you to bed, beloved? Just to rest. I’ll fetch you your food soon after.”

Daniel tilts his head, amused. He finds himself enjoying this version of him as much as he enjoys the devil who’s merciless in his dominance. It’s cute. Endearing, even. 

(He believes he'll cherish all parts of his monster, no matter how terrifying or how human.)

“Yes, baby,” he says, chuckling. “You can take me to bed.”

Armand is gentle as he picks him up by his legs, with Daniel holding on to his neck. Just a few steps and the boy is laid over clean cotton sheets that are a delightful cool breeze across his heated back. Daniel stretches, enjoying the feeling of being clean . And before Armand leaves, he pulls him by his now messy shirt, and presses his lips against him. His devil opens his mouth and their tongues touch. It's a slow passionate caress. It makes Daniel want to pull on his lower lip, so he does. His sweet devil gives him the tiniest of whimpers in return.

Armand is the first to step back, looking as disheveled as Daniel feels.

“Wait here, beloved,” he commands, softly.

The boy gives him a quick peck before letting him go. “I'm not going anywhere, baby.”

His mind shows him mercy, for once. It does not fixate on any bad thought or pull him into another spiral. All Daniel does is rest along the cool sheets, eyes shut in pleasure. 

The boy is so relaxed, he doesn't even notice the extra weight on the bed till Armand’s icy hand comes to caress his cheek. Daniel smiles.

“I've brought your nourishment,” he says, and his voice is velvet smooth, a soothing softness across his overactive brain. The boy moans into the touch. “You need to eat, darling.”

Daniel snuggles closer, feeling rather lazy. “Can you feed it to me, please?”

He hears the teasing laugh from above and his legs shiver from anticipation.

“Of course, sweet boy. But lean your back against the pillow so it's easier on your throat.”

He smirks to himself. “I think my throat can take a lot of things, boss.”

“Daniel,” he warns, pinching his cheek. “Be reasonable.”

“Fine, fine,” the boy mutters back, getting in position.

Daniel opens his eyes long enough to know he's not hitting his head against the headboard, but once he glances at his mesmerizing devil with that pack of saltines, he closes them once more and parts his mouth.

“Very good,” Armand praises, bringing a salty cracker to his bottom lip. “Now chew, beloved.”

He does, slowly, carefully, moaning at the easy praise he receives in return.

“Swallow, that's it, dear. Here, have a sip. Very good, beloved. Have another saltine. Good boy. You'll eat everything, won't you? Yes, that's it. So good you are, sweet boy. Drink your water. Very, very good. You are my good boy, aren't you, Daniel?”

He’s shameless to admit he's rocking a semi by the end of his little meal. Daniel has no real desire to fuck, though. The boy is just soaking in the praise—the gentleness. He flutters his eyes open, and sees Armand watching him with an unreadable expression. His face is still. Yet his amber gaze shifts and turns, making it impossible to know what the vampire is really thinking. 

Daniel believes there must be some miscommunication going on, so he says, “I'm not really in the mood—”

“I know,” Armand interrupts, voice gentle. “You should go to sleep, beloved. You've had a long day.”

“But you'll stay.” He scoots closer, putting a hand over his crossed legs. “You'll stay the night, won't you?”

His devil flicks his gaze to where Daniel's hand rests, right over his right knee, fingers digging into his thigh. Armand is so still.

The boy's fear resurfaces. 

Perhaps he's misstepped. Maybe he shouldn't have touched him at all. He shouldn't have been so goddamn pushy.

He removes his hand, guilt corroding at his heart.

Armand doesn't let him get too far. The vampire grabs his wrist, pulls him back, and brings down his cold lips to the center of Daniel's palm.

The boy gasps as he feels gentle pecks across his skin. And he's left speechless when his devil snuggles his palm closer to his face, purring, looking like this is the last thing holding him together.

“Baby,” Daniel whispers, bringing him closer.

Armand says nothing, only returns the hug, and brings the boy down with him under the cold sheets. They make space for the two, cuddling into a tight desperate embrace. Armand's eyes shine in the darkness and Daniel never wants to stop looking at them—that sharp haunting gaze. Even as sleep takes over, and his limbs turn heavy, he never wants to stop looking. 

His devil orders, “Rest now, beloved. I'll be here when you wake.”

The boy wants to obey. He truly does.

But his lips move before he can stop them.

“I love you,” he whispers to those cold merciless eyes. “I love you so much that it hurts, baby.”

Armand remains perfectly still.

Daniel wants to say it again, he wants this vampire to understand the depth of his love for him—how endless it feels, like he'll never stop loving him, not even if a thousand years pass—but his eyelids grow heavy, exhaustion sinks into him like a warm blanket.

I love you, he thinks, hoping the vampire catches that sleepy thought. I love all of you.

The boy shuts his eyes, falling deeper into that soft darkness. He dreams of sweet and sour while he clings to the dead thing in his bed.

Although, he thinks he picks up another voice, something sad and lonely, as they ask, “Are you certain?” 

But Daniel is already far gone, the only thing concrete being the icy pulse in his lover's neck.

* * *

Morning comes. Beams of sunlight breach the window blinds and Daniel wakes with heat across his face. Begrudgingly, he opens his eyes. The room feels damp, so it's probably closer to eleven a.m. than anything. He stretches his limbs, from head to toe, and looks sideways to find… no one. Armand is gone.

Yeah, that makes sense, he thinks, and swallows the grief trying to climb back up.

Daniel lifts himself off the bed, gives himself a minute or two to steady himself, takes a couple of deep breaths, and lets his mind wander to all the things he has to do today. He has a deadline coming, so he'll have to score some coke if he wants to finish it on time. 

Yes, he needs to accomplish a lot this fine mid-morning.

But when he places a foot firmly on the ground, a voice whispers into his mind.

Put on that clean shirt and bottoms I placed over the armchair, it orders, gently. Then come meet me in the kitchen.

Immediate relief sweeps over the boy, and in three seconds he's already on the other side of the room, putting on the clothes his baby picked out for him. Daniel feels quite giddy; despite himself and his skepticism.

He steps into his small shitty kitchen and is met with an assortment of breakfast meals: toasted waffles, chocolate chip pancakes, blueberries and strawberries and even sliced up watermelon, there's also fried eggs, scrambled eggs, poached eggs on toast, long strips of sizzling bacon, and two tomato slices.

Daniel stares, confused. Then with great astonishment as he spots dirty pans and pots filling up his tiny sink. 

He glances at the vampire sitting on the far end of the table, face now blood free, legs crossed, who's changed into a loose plum-violet shirt and his curls are now free, framing his features in a rather soft way. Armand stares back, expression stoic; but the poor guy can't stop blinking, can he.

“I was not sure of the state of your appetite,” he says, matter of fact. “So I thought it best to serve a bit of everything, in case you were in the mood for something sweet and savory. Are you hungry, beloved?”

Daniel smiles wide. “Baby, you cooked for me?”

“Well, the waffles were frozen. I used your toaster, which I did not break, mind you, I learned my lesson with the microwave. Pancakes and eggs are quite easy to make, after you've practiced as much as I have. The fruit I merely washed and sliced. And the tomato… Those two slices were the only adequate ones, I'm afraid.”

There's a small part of him—the little evangelist boy who was forced taught not to waste, not to be too greedy, never hungry for whatever life had to offer—that wishes to say this is all just too goddamn much. A waste of food and time and energy. Older Daniel pats that small boy on the head and goes to sit on the devil's lap.

“You know what,” he murmurs, happily. “Yeah, I am hungry, actually.”

Armand stares as Daniel adjusts his legs, searching for a glance back. The boy knows this. He's teasing him, but only slightly. And he's not that cruel. So, when he's finally comfortable, he shifts his gaze back to those haunting amber eyes. The vampire's lips curl as he slides a hand around his waist, and grips .

“Shall I feed you as well?” Armand asks, amused. “Since you've decided to make yourself so comfortable in my lap.”

Daniel chuckles. “Only if you want to.”

“Oh, I do want,” he says, quietly. “I want very much.”

The boy has the desire to kiss him deeply, so he does. Armand goes lax under him, moaning softly as Daniel parts his mouth with his tongue, and he eats it all up—all his devil's lovely sounds. His moans. His whimpers. (His love.)

Daniel doesn't stop kissing him till Armand pulls him back, still gripping his waist. His mouth is wet. Glistening. And his fangs are dropped down; making him look all too enticing to poor Daniel.

“You need to eat,” Armand murmurs, licking his bottom lip.

Daniel wants to bite it, yet he resists; for now.

“Then feed me,” he coos back. “And after I'll feed you.”

The devil does something impossibly adorable, he hides his face in the crook of the boy's neck. To which he smiles like a giddy child. Daniel caresses the back of his head in return, playing with his loose curls.

“Come on, baby. Feed me,” he says again, and kisses the top of his head. “Don't you want your blood to taste good?”

He feels Armand inhale sharply over his pulse, before muttering, “Sweet boy, you always taste good.”

Daniel swallows down a moan of his own. And simply orders, “I want the waffle first, then a couple of strawberries.”

Armand lifts his gaze. “You need protein as well, beloved.”

He shrugs. “Then feed me the bacon strips too.”

“Eggs are also a good source of—”

“Feed me the poached eggs first,” he adds, patiently. “Let's see how well you managed without me.”

“I practiced the whole night, I'll have you know,” his blushing vampire insists. “I'm sure it's more than adequate.”

Daniel gives him a quick kiss on his cheek. “Feed me then.”

The devil does. He feeds his minion his toasted waffle, delivers the sliced strawberries by hand, then a long strip of bacon, before a piece of the poached runny egg on toast. His lover's hands are delicate but meticulous. A clawed thumb brushes over his bottom lip and Daniel is tempted to suck it into his mouth. He resists, for Armand looks focused. Fascinated, even. His monster might be attentive at the moment, but that does not mean he wishes for more than this. Daniel knows him too well. So, the boy resists. And the boy eats. 

He eats it all, as Armand persuades him to take a bite from the pancakes, “Aren't chocolate chip your favorite, beloved?”, a piece of watermelon, “They're quite refreshing, wouldn't you say?”, and a few more bites of the bacon and a bit of every egg imaginable, “That's right, sweet boy. Eat up. Till you're full and no less. Very good, my Daniel.”

The boy eats, and is content. He's full. (Which is somewhat sad, because he doesn't recall feeling this good in a long time.)

Armand makes him drink a full glass of water afterwards. He soothes him in this act, too. Sweet praise spills from his dangerous lips like it's second nature to him, like it's easy to say all those lovely things about one Daniel Molloy.

“It is,” his devil whispers in his ear. “It's very easy to take care of you, beloved.”

“Oh,” is all he mutters, belly full and thirst satiated.

Armand kisses his neck, the blunt of his fangs rubbing delicately over the present bite mark— his bite mark. He's eager, but he doesn't want to show it. He's waiting. The devil awaits his minion's command.

And doesn't that thought fill the hungry boy right up.

“Go ahead,” Daniel whispers, after he's composed himself. “Drink from me. Take your fill, baby.”

Armand chuckles over his warm skin, sending goosebumps down the boy's body.

“If I took my fill of you,” he comments, almost bored; but he's not bored at all, is he. “There would never be any peace for you, my sweet boy. There would be nothing left but me . You'd be mine, completely. My beautiful boy. My precious Daniel. I'd never tire of you, do you understand? Do you know what it's like? Having something like me, owning you, body and soul, till your final death? Do you understand what taking my fill means, beloved?”

Daniel melts at those words, the intensity overwhelming him in the best way imaginable. He scoots himself closer to this apex predator, limbs putty under those clawed hands, and offers his neck like an eager little lamb to the slaughter.

“I want to be yours,” the boy hisses, madly. “I love you and I want it and I— Never leave, you fucker. Don't leave and you're allowed to take your fill as much as you want. Do you understand that , baby?”

His monster moans in response, a low needy grunt, before gripping the back of Daniel's head, pulling it to the side—still slow, still gentle, still oh so careful, his little devil—and finally sinks his fangs into that old wound.

Armand takes his fill. And the boy moans at the desperation of it all.

The bite is not of the starving wolf, it is not rough or mean or meant to hurt, but gentle . A sweet slow nourishment. (It's nothing like Louis’.) Armand sucks his blood as if he's something sacred. He takes pleasure in the small bloody drops, tongue touching the puffy skin in grateful slow licks. The vampire kisses the bite as if he's taking communion; as if he just made a vow to God.

Daniel feels worshiped as Armand devours him.

The boy lets out a small whimper as his devil’s fangs retreat, and he might’ve asked for a second biting kiss, if not for the expression of pure pleasure on his beloved Armand. His pupils are blown wide like an animal’s. Lovely mouth stained with his blood. He’s panting, as if out of breath, his pretty dangerous fangs on display for mere ordinary Daniel.

The boy bites. The boy pulls on his lover’s lower lip. The boy consumes his own blood as he kisses this magnificent creature of the night.

Armand’s fangs prick Daniel’s tongue, and yet the boy persists.

He persists and persists.

Till the vampire has to be one to pull back, exhaling sharply as he does. His haunting eyes stare right through him, and he feels it —his devil swooping around his minion’s mind. Daniel lets him in with open arms. He moans as that icy voice commands him to open his now bloody mouth. 

And he cries. The boy sobs as his monster shows him the true depth of his love—how bottomless it feels, how consuming, how maddening and terrifying and yet so so lovely. 

Armand runs one single claw down his own tongue. His vampire bleeds and it’s red and gushing like his tears. Their tongues touch. Daniel makes his own communion with the devil. He swallows it, and he feels hundreds of years of history colluding inside him, the grief and the madness and the sorrow and the fucking anger and the endless love Armand has felt throughout the ages, the boy feels him completely. He knows his soul now; as deeply as Armand knows his. They’re bonded. Yes, joined together in this unholy matrimony.

The minion’s heart still beats like a living warm-blooded boy, but his soul belongs to the icy cruel devil; who grants his every wish with gusto.

“Baby, I think I just came in my pants.”

“Hmm, how curious.”

“Can you feed me another strawberry?”

“Certainly, beloved.”